


There Is A Balm In Gilead, And They Call It By Your Name

by orphan_account



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Endgame fix it, F/M, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda, Loss of Spouse, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Pre-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Reader Has A Niece, Reader is a Widow and Orphan, Slow Burn, how Steve spent those five years, in which Steve does not lose the nomad look, loss of sister
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:08:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28827204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: April 23rd, 2018. A day that would live in infamy for the entire world. The entire universe.You were one of the ones left behind, one of the so-called 'lucky ones'. You felt far from lucky.The survivors were urged to move on, to soldier through and honor the memory of those taken by living life to the fullest. You didn't want to. You wanted to scream, to fight, to be obstinate and demand your life back from the universe. You refused to let go.And thenhemoved in across the hall...
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Original Female Character(s), Steve Rogers/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20





	1. Infamy

**Author's Note:**

> What do you do when you're stuck on your WIP? Start a new one, of course! haha  
> I hope you enjoy this, let me know what you think in the comments! <3

“Now I feel like having donuts. I can run down to the store and get some real quick if you want.”

“Really, Greg? It’s the end of the world, and you want donuts?”

The same news footage had played for most of the day: the shaky video of the circular spaceship (admittedly very donut-like) hovering over lower Manhattan with debris scattering in its wake, blurry images of Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, and two other men (monks? magicians?) facing off against an alien that looked like a cross between Voldemort and Squidward, Spiderman swinging between buildings and avenues. The spaceship was gone by now; you had been able to see it earlier in the day from your Brooklyn apartment as it descended, a lone black mark that bisected the clear blue sky over the East River, visible through your home office window. By the time Greg came back home, the news had reported that the aliens had retreated with Tony Stark in their clutches.

You were stunned by how calm your husband was about all this, though you knew you shouldn’t have been. That’s how Greg was, and it was one of the reasons you loved him so much. No matter how dark or scary things got, he was calm and steady, a beacon in a world that was all too easy to get lost in. You had been dating for two years when the Battle of New York had happened, and he was the same way. He had assured you then that things would work out, and when the Avengers saved the day, he had given you one of his signature smug-yet-reassuring looks. Now, he was just as confident in the heroes as he was then, despite everything that was said in the media about the supposedly splintered group.

“It’s not the end of the world, babe,” Greg said as he got up and rounded the couch to where you stood behind it. He pressed a kiss to your cheek as he strolled into the kitchen, returning with a cold beer in hand as if he were watching the Super Bowl instead of another alien invasion. “The Avengers are on this, don’t worry.”

“He’s _still_ on that Avengers bullshit,” Farrah said as she followed him out of the kitchen. You could always count on your sister to be on your side. She stood next to you, her hands on her hips, squinting at the television. You shrugged helplessly at her and she shrugged back. “You’re the one who married this fool,” she said plainly. Greg reached over and roughed up Farrah’s hair, and even though she shoved him away, a laugh bubbled out from her lips. You always loved your sister’s laugh. You wished you could hear it a thousand more times.

You remembered what she was wearing that day with a clarity that surprised you. She had on a pink sweater, even though she hated pink. Her hair was in a ponytail, and there was a streak of what you could only guess was flour in her hair, left over from her shift at the bakery. It had closed early, due to the aliens, and she had spent most of the afternoon with you, doomscrolling through social media and watching the news before Greg came. You were glad she was there. If it really was the end of the world, you wanted her by your side. Even though she was three years older than you, you and Farrah had always been close growing up. You happily wore her hand-me-downs, was proud to be known as “Farrah’s little sister” by all the teachers she had first. You would follow her everywhere and anywhere because you had gone through everything together; the death of your mom, and your dad shortly after; the birth of your niece Mallory when Farrah was just 18; every broken heart and every broken promise; every triumph and every win. She was your best friend in all aspects of the word, and it only made sense that she lived just across the hall from you and Greg. 

You sighed and turned to your husband. “Tony Stark is an intergalactic POW and Captain America is a fugitive of the law. God knows where the others are. You sure you want to place all that faith in them?”

He wrapped an arm around your waist and placed a few more kisses on your shoulder before sitting down on the couch again. He looked over his shoulder at you and smiled. “Everything is going to work out. You’ll see.”

That was the moment that still haunted you. The way his eyes were bright and infuriatingly optimistic, the way one corner of his mouth tugged upward in a lopsided grin that never failed to make your stomach twist in happy knots. You wished you could go back to that moment, somehow turn back time and prolong the way he looked at you then. You wished you had smiled back at him, or told him you believed him, that you always believed him when he said things would be okay despite your stubborn pessimism. You wished you had told him you loved him, that he was the best thing that ever happened to you, that you didn’t want to imagine a world without him, much less live in one. At the very least, you wished that you had kissed him, one last time. You still didn’t remember the last time you had kissed him.

Instead of any that, you had rolled your eyes at him and walked into the kitchen with Farrah to check on the roast in the oven. You had turned your back to him and walked away, something you would never forgive yourself for. Of course, you hadn’t known, you couldn’t have known that would be the last time you would see him. Despite what you had said to Greg, a part of you held onto hope. Through all the crazy things the world had been through, the Avengers always managed to save the day. Aliens, killer robots, secret Nazi organizations, and who knows what else. The world was safe because its best defenders always pulled through.

Almost always.

“How’s it looking?” Farrah asked as you stooped to open the oven and peek at the roast. It was only just beginning to brown over top, and you figured it needed another hour or so.

“It’s good, if I do say so myself,” you said, dusting off your hands and smiling over at her.

Farrah rolled her eyes but grinned. Suddenly, her face grew serious, almost fearful. “How much more of this crazy shit can we take?” she asked quietly, not really to you, but mused into the air, as if it would reach someone who had the real answers.

You sighed. “Everything is going to work out,” you told her, echoing your husband’s words. There wasn’t much else you could say because you were as unsure as she was. The world seemed like such a delicate place now, held together with string and tape, smaller now that everyone knew Earth was only a blip in a much larger and scarier universe. But at least you had family.

_Had_ family.

“You hang out with Greg too much,” Farrah said, a smirk on her face.

“I married the fool,” you smirked back. You remember distinctly wanting to reach out and hug her. You almost did, but for some reason you stopped yourself. You must have figured you had all the time in the world to hug her, that there wasn’t anything urgent in that moment, that it wasn’t your last chance.

“Need any help in here?” she asked politely. You knew her well enough to know that she was hoping you would say no, and you didn’t mind. She spent enough time around stoves and ovens at work, and you were more than capable in the kitchen on your own. You chuckled at her and hit her on the shoulder with the dishtowel that was hanging by the sink.

“Nope, I’ll come get you and Mal when it’s done,” you assured her, and she groaned in relief.

“Ugh, thank goodness. You’re the best!” she called out to you as she made her way out of your apartment and down the hall.

You wished you had hugged her.

You continued to tinker in the kitchen, the news still playing in the living room. You smiled to yourself as you rinsed a dish and placed it in the dishwasher.

“Hey, babe,” you called out to Greg, your tone mischievous and light. “You know, I think I might want those donuts now.”

Silence.

“Greggy, did you hear me?”

Nothing.

You frowned and closed the dishwasher, making your way back into the living room. “Baby, the television is not even that loud, I know you can hear--”

You stopped short when you didn’t see Greg’s head peeking over the back of the couch, the news anchor on the screen still rattling off facts about the events of the day. You glanced over at the door to see that it was closed, and you hadn’t heard it open or shut. You figured he went into the bedroom, so you headed over to the hallway that led there, but you stopped again when you passed the couch.

There was a pile of brown…dust on it, spread over the cushions and spilling onto the floor, right where Greg had been sitting. It was as if someone had emptied out the vacuum cleaner onto your couch. The only problem was, you didn’t own a vacuum cleaner.

You stared at the pile, tilting your head to the side, something you couldn’t recognize beginning to rise in you. You knew that your brain was trying to put the pieces together, but your thoughts were disjointed and scrambled. You just kept staring at that pile of dust, and somehow, somewhere deep in your core, you knew that if you called out to Greg, there would be no answer.

“We want to welcome our viewers back with breaking news,” you dimly heard the news anchor say on the screen. “We just received reports that—Joe? Joe, are okay? Joe—HOLY FUCK! What the fuck is happening to our cameraman?! JOE!”

Just then, you heard a piercing scream from the other side of your door. It was Mallory, and that was the moment your blood ran cold and every muscle in your body grew rigid. You couldn’t move, not an inch, not even when Mallory burst into your apartment and screamed again when she saw the pile of ash that used to be her uncle, a pile that matched the one across the hall that used to be her mother.

Everything is going to work out, it always does.

Except when it doesn’t.


	2. The First Year

**Two Weeks after the Event**

It was morning too soon. You hadn’t known a good night’s rest for the past two weeks, but when you did manage to get a few hours in, morning always came too soon. Sleeping was an escape; you had expected nightmares, but they didn’t come, not yet at least. Instead, for a brief moment, you could forget. You could descend into a dark, blissful ignorance, and forget. Even when morning did come, for the first few seconds you could pretend that you would wake up and find out that it had all been a dream, that you’d turn over and see Greg lying beside you like he always was.

But then you’d actually turn over and see Mallory in bed next to you (because both of you couldn’t sleep alone anymore) and you’d remember. Greg was a pile of ash on your couch, and your sister was a pile of ash in the bathroom in the apartment across the hall.

“We have to do _something_ with them,” Mal said quietly when you did turn over to check on her. She was staring at the ceiling with a faraway look in her eyes, far too haunted for a 13-year-old.

“Mal, did you sleep at all?” you asked, your voice cracking from sleep and the rawness that came from sobbing too much.

She shrugged. “I think so. But, we need to do something with them, Kiki,” she said, and you were slightly warmed by the nickname she had for you since she could talk. When Mal was a baby, she would call cookies “kikis,” and for whatever reason, she decided you were also a kiki. “We can’t just leave them there.”

You sighed and closed your eyes. You knew that was true, they couldn’t stay there, they deserved better, but as much as your life was in upheaval, so was the rest of the world. It was apocalyptic, really. The government was in shambles, the economy was non-existent, and schools had been closed indefinitely until staffing problems could be fixed. Funeral homes were swamped; you had tried for three days to call one so you could get two urns, and once you did get to speak to someone, the poor employee had burst into tears telling you that there was nothing they could do for you.

There was also the fact that you were paralyzed whenever you thought about what to do with your husband and sister. For the most part, you and Mallory kept yourselves holed up in you room, only venturing out to use the bathroom or retrieve the food you ordered. It was easy to avoid looking at the couch, but you knew the ashes were still there. It left a sick feeling in your stomach. You still hadn’t seen Farrah’s ashes; you couldn’t bring yourself to step into her apartment.

“We have mason jars,” Mal said, barely above a whisper. “I think they’ll be big enough.”

You couldn’t speak. You were on the edge of tears, and you tried your best not to break down in front of her.

“We can decorate them, too,” she added. “So we know who is who.”

By some miracle, you swallowed the boulder that had gathered in your throat. You nodded. “That would be nice,” you whispered.

You both stayed quiet for a while, staring at the ceiling, letting the pal of mourning surround you. It felt surreal and cruel, and cold, the only saving grace being that at least the two of you had each other.

“You snore,” Mal added, and there was the faintest hint of mirth in her tone, so small and delicate and breakable.

You frowned over at her. “No I do not.”

“Yeah you do,” she said and she grinned. She grinned, and it pushed you closer to tears because it was the first time in two weeks you saw your niece smile. “Loudly, too.”

“That’s not possible, Greg would have said something,” you assured her.

She shook her head. “Uncle Greg loved you too much to say anything.”

That did it. That word.

_Loved_. Past tense.

Your face crumpled before you could catch yourself, and your body shook with the first sob of the day.

“Oh, Kiki, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry,” Mal said, panic lacing her voice. She reached over and held onto you, but your body continued to shake, unable to stop the deluge of tears. You felt Mal begin to shake too, breathy sobs joining your deep and shaky ones in a sad harmony.

Those were how your days were spent. Taking two steps forward, and tumbling back, stuck in a revolving door of grief that seemed to have no end. But you tried your best, if only for Mal because she needed you to be strong.

You did wind up using those mason jars. You plastered them with pictures of Greg and Farrah’s favorite things, and you cried the whole time. It took you and Mal two days to put the ashes in their respective jars because you could only manage a few handfuls at a time before you both dissolved into sobs. Eventually, everything was cleaned up, you converted your home office into Mal’s new bedroom, and you slowly pieced together a new life from the vestiges of what you once knew.

Those two mason jars may have been in the back of your closet, but they resided in the front of your mind, the entirety of your heart.

**Six Months after the Event**

“Got any plans this weekend?” Gladys asked as she walked over to your desk and grabbed your stapler, heading back to her own desk across from you. Without asking. And she’d probably forget to put it back where she found it.

You stifled a sigh aimed at the older lady as you took a sip of coffee and looked over the seating chart you had on your monitor. The university was having a big awards night…thingy, and your office had to finalize things. Well, not _your_ office, the Provost’s office, Dr. Davenport, your boss. You were one of his secretaries, and your job was filled with so many exciting things like catering orders, replacing coffee filters, and yes, seating charts. Thrilling.

“No, just staying in with Mal,” you told her, hoping she would drop the conversation. Gladys wasn’t bad, but she was chatty, and it was too early for you to endure one of her endless monologues. 

This was the first office job you ever had. You had majored in mass comm in school, and when you and Greg had graduated, he had been the one to work a 9 to 5 in an office, and you had freelanced as a copywriter. Sure, freelancing wasn’t as stable and it didn’t provide any benefits, but you enjoyed the variety it offered. You got to work with different clients and found new ways to elevate their products and services with words and slogans that came from your imagination. Plus, you were always able to greet Greg when he got home, which was your favorite part about it.

Like everything else, the Snap (as people called it now) changed all of that. You needed a stable job with benefits so that you could provide for Mal and keep your apartment. It sucked, you couldn’t lie, but it paid the bills, and you had to be grateful for that.

“No dates? A girl like you should be out on the town, having fun! Hire a sitter,” Gladys said flippantly, placing your stapler in one of her desk drawers. You held in another sigh.

You pushed out a grin. “I’m good, I’m more of a homebody anyway,” you said, even though you didn’t want to explain yourself. You made the last edit to the seating chart before emailing it to Dr. Davenport for approval. He wasn’t in the office, he rarely was. For some reason, he thought that it would be a good idea to teach on top of his duties as Provost, and that usually meant you did some of his lesson planning too, despite the fact that you knew very little about 19th Century literature.

“Well, I have a nephew,” Gladys began, and you wanted to smash your head against your desk. She was always mentioning her male relatives, all conveniently around your age, as if you’d actually jump at the chance to be set up with one of them. “He lives on the Upper East Side, works for one of those big, fancy banks. He’s around your age actually--”

“Oh, Gladys, I’m sorry, I totally forgot. I need to make a few copies for Davenport, I’ll be right back,” you said quickly, before grabbing a random folder off your desk and heading over across the hall to the copy room. Once there, you let out a long breath. You were sure Gladys didn’t mean to give you anxiety, but sometimes you really wanted to tell that woman to shut her mouth. The very idea of going out on a date made your stomach cave in on itself. It was a thought you didn’t even allow yourself to entertain past the word ‘date.’ Greg had been the love of your life, and as far as you were concerned, you only got one of those in a lifetime.

You sighed again and leaned against the copier in relief or defeat, you couldn’t tell. You opened the folder you had grabbed and were surprised to see documents you actually did need to make copies of, and you felt marginally better that you hadn’t completely lied to Gladys. You were about halfway done when she came into the room.

“Y/N, sweetie,” she said behind you, and you tensed up a bit.

“I’m almost done in here,” you told her in the nicest tone you could muster.

“I can finish up for you, dear,” she said, and that’s when you noticed how weird she sounded, way too conciliatory and gentle. You turned to her and frowned. She placed her hand over her heart and looked back at you with sad eyes. “It’s Mallory, dear. Her school called, she’s in the hospital.”

You barely heard what she said next, or what Mal’s school nurse told you over the phone. Apparently, her appendix was in danger of bursting, and somehow you hadn’t known. You remembered Mal looking a bit off that morning, but she had assured you that she was fine, that she could push through because she had a Spanish test she didn’t want to miss, and you had listened to her. She was in high school now, she was grown enough to make those decisions without you hovering, right?

Your mind was on overdrive, going through a million thoughts as each second ticked by, but everything else felt like it was moving in slow motion as you made your way to the hospital. You were like a fly in amber, desperately trying to move forward and keep yourself from drowning in your panic. You needed to get to your niece and take care of her. You wouldn’t lose her too, the universe wouldn’t dare take her away, too.

You got off the subway and ran the two blocks to the Emergency Room entrance and barreled to the front desk.

“I’m here to see Mallory, Mallory Y/L/N,” you told the receptionist breathlessly.

She nodded as she input the name into the system. “May I have your ID, please?” she asked. You fumbled in your purse for it and handed it to her. She took it, and when she peered down at it, she frowned. She looked at the monitor again and back at your ID, and then finally up at you. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but what’s your relation to the patient?”

“I’m her aunt,” you said, tapping your fingers against the desk. You were trying your best to remain calm with her, but all she needed to do was tell you where your damn niece was.

She looked at you with an expression you couldn’t place. “Okay, ma’am. Please, take a seat for me,” she said, handing your ID back to you and gesturing to the waiting room chairs behind you.

You frowned. “Where is she? Aren’t you going to tell me where my niece is?”

“Ma’am, please. Take a seat, someone will be with you shortly,” she said firmly, and you could have sworn she was glaring at you a little.

Heat blazed through you. “Can you just tell me where my niece is, or get someone who can actually do this job?” you asked, your voice raising a few octaves.

Now she was definitely glaring at you. “Ma’am, if you don’t calm down, I’ll have to call security. Take a seat.”

You really wanted to hurl yourself across the desk and grab at her throat, but you used every ounce of your self-control to do as she said. Causing a scene wouldn’t help you or Mallory, so you decided to sit and tap your foot rapidly, taking deep breaths that didn’t really help you calm down at all. You watched as the receptionist made a call, hoping that your eyes were going to burn a hole in the middle of her face. She caught you staring and with a frown, she turned away, the phone still on her ear. Bitch.

After what felt like a century of tapping your foot and scrolling through your phone without really paying attention to anything on your screen, another woman approached you. This one was wearing a neat black blazer and a matching pencil skirt, and unlike the receptionist, she had a smile on her face.

“Mrs. Blume?” she asked, and your heart leaped into your throat. It had been a while since someone actually called you by Greg’s last name out loud, and it wasn’t easy to hear. You nodded while you tried to swallow the lump crushing your windpipe.

The woman smiled. “Hi, I’m Sylvia Reyes,” she said with an outstretched hand. You took it and shook it. “I’m a liaison between the hospital and Social Services. I’m just here to ask you a few questions.”

You looked up at her for a second before your eyes glanced over at the front desk. The receptionist was pointedly avoiding the scene unfolding.

“Social Services?” you repeated, a cold feeling spreading through you.

Sylvia nodded and took a seat next to you. “Mallory, your niece? She was admitted here as an unaccompanied minor. Her school was able to send over her emergency contact information, and it seems you’re not listed anywhere on those forms.” She glanced down at the clipboard in her hand. “Do you know a Farrah Y/L/N?”

“Yes, she’s my sister. Was my sister. She died during the…” you couldn’t bring yourself to finish the sentence. Sylvia looked at you sympathetically.

“I’m so sorry to hear that. We’ve had to deal with a lot of families who have been impacted by the…Event. I’m so sorry about everything you’ve gone through,” she said, and her tone was beginning to sound too sorry.

You cleared your throat. “Thank you, but I really need to see my niece. Can anyone tell me where she is?”

Sylvia let out a huff of air and looked down at her clipboard. Her brows furrowed, and something like regret passed over her face, as if what she were about to tell you was something she has had to say to other people freaking out in a hospital waiting room, something that she hated saying. “Mrs. Blume, I’m afraid you won’t be able to see your niece. While I truly believe Mallory is your niece, we have no documentation of that. Neither does her school. There is the added fact that you don’t have the same last name…there are precautions we have to take with cases like these. For all we know, you could be a danger to the minor.”

You gawked at her. “Y-you think I’m a danger? How?”

Sylvia sighed again. “We have no concrete proof that you are related to the minor, and there have been incidents similar to this one that have pointed to trafficking and kidnapping. We have to be sure this is not that.”

“Trafficking?! Kidnapping?!” you squeaked, and Sylvia flinched. You shook your head and stood up. “Listen, I get all that, but Mallory _is_ my niece. The paperwork…me and Farrah procrastinated with it, and Mal’s school is a K-12, so I—I thought I had more time to update it from last year. I _am_ her aunt, Y/L/N is my maiden name, my husband died too. I can go get her birth certificate, and mine, just hold on--”

Sylvia stood up with you and placed a hand on your shoulder, but you jerked away from her. She smiled at you sadly, and all you wanted to do was slap that look off her face. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Blume but, Mallory has already been registered into the system. There’s protocol in place that we need to follow. From what I hear, she’s already in surgery--”

“SHE’S IN SURGERY?” you roared, and every head in the room swiveled towards you. “They took her into surgery without my permission? What kind of shit operation do you people run here?! LET ME SEE MY FUCKING NIECE!”

“Mrs. Blume, please--”

You couldn’t breathe. This wasn’t happening, it couldn’t be happening. They were trying to take Mallory away from you, and it was all your fault. Why didn’t you and Farrah update those stupid forms? You had one job: make sure your sister’s daughter was taken care of, and you couldn’t even do that. You were failing Farrah, and Farrah was dead, and Greg was dead, everyone was dead—

You don’t know how it happened, but you were on the floor hyperventilating, pulling at your hair and clothes, trying desperately to fill your lungs. You faintly heard Sylvia calling out to you, but you couldn’t understand what she was saying.

“Please let me see Mallory, she needs me. She’s alone, she can’t be alone, she needs me she needs me she needs me…” you blubbered, but you weren’t sure anyone could understand you. You heard a few new voices, but you couldn’t make out what they were saying.

“…Mrs. Blume, please calm down…”

“…sedation is best…”

“This might pinch, Mrs. Blume…”

You felt a sharp sting on your arm and everything went dark.

________

The first thing that hit you when you woke up was the beeping. It was steady and consistent, almost calming, and it made you want to slip back into sleep. Your eyes dragged open, and you were met by a tiled ceiling and the stinging scent of antiseptic.

Then you remembered.

The beeping grew more insistent as your breathing grew shallow. Your hands gripped the scratchy hospital linens on the bed they put you on, and you felt yourself on the verge of tears. You squeezed your eyes shut, hoping that you if you closed them tight enough, you could be transported back to six months ago, when everything in your life was right and you knew exactly where you were headed. You wanted to wake up from this hellscape so badly, but when you opened your eyes again, you were still in that hospital bed. Just as you were about to get yourself up, the curtains surrounding your bed were pushed open, revealing a young man in blue scrubs, and Sylvia not too far behind him.

“Mrs. Blume, you’re awake,” the nurse said, coming over and checking the IV drip that you barely noticed was in your arm. He looked down at you and smiled. “How are you feeling?”

He seemed nice enough, he really did, but your eyes were locked on Sylvia. “Where’s my niece?” you asked her, your voice low and scratchy. You barely recognized it.

Sylvia stepped forward timidly. She looked over to her left and shook her head at someone, and you looked to find a security guard standing just on the outskirts of the curtains. Awesome, they thought you were a flight risk. Great.

“Mallory is out of surgery now,” Sylvia began, giving you that annoyingly sympathetic look again. “Everything went well, they were able to remove her appendix successfully. She’s in post-op, and she just woke up.”

Tears sprung into your eyes at the thought of her waking up alone. You closed your eyes again and pushed your head back against the pillow behind you. “You said she was already in the system. What does that mean?” you asked. You felt so exhausted, so tired.

You were surprised to feel Sylvia sit down at the foot of your bed and place a hand on your leg, a gesture that was supposed to comfort you, but it only made you feel more tired. You had lost it in the waiting room, and now you were spent. You wanted to give up and just let the universe have its way with you. You had nothing more to give.

“That means that officially, Mallory is in the foster care system,” Sylvia said calmly. “She’ll be matched with a foster home by tonight, and that is where she will stay once she is discharged. Then, we can begin the process of verifying your claim as her aunt, and we can begin kinship adoption proceedings.” She rubbed your leg a little. You were about to speak again but she beat you to it, “Mrs. Blume, this process can take anywhere between a couple of weeks to six months, _but_ , but that depends on what we find during our background check. I have a feeling we won’t find anything concerning in this case,” she assured you and you relaxed again.

You were silent as you tried to wrap your head around everything, but there was one thing you really needed to do. “Please,” you whispered, broken and haggard. “Please just let me see her. The police officer can be there, I don’t care, I just need to--” but your voice caught in your throat.

“You can see her, I’ll be there to supervise,” Sylvia said, and you jolted upright in surprise. She smiled at you, free of anything pitying, and patted your leg one more time before getting up. She looked over at the nurse. “Is she alright to get up?”

“If she’s feeling up to it, yeah,” he replied, and he looked down at you expectantly. You nodded eagerly, and he smiled too, arranging things so he could remove the IV from your arm.

Once that was done, you followed Sylvia up a few floors and through a few corridors until you reached a part of the surgical wing lined with rooms that had sliding glass doors, along with a nurse’s station. She led you to a room in the far corner, and gently slid open the door.

“Hi Mallory, I have a surprise for you,” Sylvia called out beyond the curtain. You stepped in after her, and your eyes immediately landed on Mal in her bed, and the relief that flooded through you threatened to make you collapse again.

“Kiki,” Mal whimpered, and her face collapsed with emotion. You were by her in a second, wrapping your arms around her as carefully as you could, willing yourself not to cry.

“I’m so sorry, Mal,” you said into her hair. “I’m so sorry, I should have updated those stupid forms, I’m so sorry.”

The two of you stayed that way for a little while before Sylvia cleared her throat to get your attention. You looked over at her warily.

“The foster family has been notified about Mallory’s arrival,” she informed you in that same delicate tone she used before. She looked at Mal. “They’re very nice. Older couple, very sweet. You should ask them how they met, it’s a funny story,” she said, and you were suddenly grateful for the way she was trying to brighten up the situation. “Really, I don’t think you’ll be there for long, this is just a precaution that needs to be handled,” she said reassuringly.

“Okay,” Mal said quietly, looking down at her hands. “Kiki, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you how bad I was feeling. The Spanish test was 20% of our grade and I--” her face scrunched up again, and you shushed her, brushing some hair out of her face.

“It’s okay, Mal,” you told her, and you laughed a little. “Not even a burst appendix can stand in between you and an A.” She looked up at you with a watery smile. “Just, next time, I’m sure your teacher would understand, Mal. Your health comes before your grades, okay?” Mal nodded, and you sighed with relief. “Everything is fine. It’s all going to work out, you’ll see,” you told her with a conviction that surprised you, like you actually believed it. You did, you had to, because those words were the only thing keeping you from slipping away completely. They were your beacon, signaling your way home in the midst of a raging storm.

“You can visit her while she’s there,” Sylvia assured you a nod. “The Millers—her fosters—will have to be present, but you can visit her whenever you like, I’ll give you their contact info,” she said as she pulled out her phone and began to search.

You were at least grateful for that. This was a nightmare, but you decided in that moment to find the brighter edges of the situation, something you never used to do, but something that was vital now if you were going to be the adult Mal needed you to be. You spent some more time with her before you had to go. You went home to back a bag for her, and came back just in time before visiting hours ended.

True to her word, Sylvia had given you the Miller’s number, and you called them right away. They were very gracious; they had lost a son and two grandchildren to the Event, and they promised that Mallory was going to be well taken care of. They took Mallory to school every day, packed her filling lunches, and allowed you to visit after work, often begging you to stay for dinner. Going back to an empty apartment was hard, and yes, you did cry, but you only let yourself wallow a little bit before squaring your shoulders and telling yourself you would survive the next day, and the next, and the next.

It took three long weeks, but all the paperwork and interviews and legal proceedings concluded, and you had adopted Mallory. You even ordered a cake for her homecoming (which she rolled her eyes at, but still enjoyed). It wasn’t until that night while you were lying in bed that it hit you: you were officially a mother, and it had happened in the worst way possible. But you were going to be alright, and so was Mal because _you_ decided that in spite of it all. 

That would be the choice you would make every day.

**Nine Months after the Event**

It was your birthday. It was such a weird thing to acknowledge considering everything that happened in between this one and the last, something so trivial in the grand scheme of things.

You had tried to forget about it, but Mal wouldn’t let you. She surprised you with cupcakes from the bakery that Farrah used to work at, along with a note from the owner, Donna, that said how missed your sister was, and that you and Mal could get free donuts for life at the shop.

Even some of your old college friends emailed you to wish you a happy birthday, but they were paired with condolences for everything that you lost. You wanted to be happy; your birthday used to be something you looked forward to, but now, it was one of the many things that reminded you of the pain you had to live with. It was the first birthday you had without Farrah. She had been there for every one of them, including the day you were born. But she was gone, and now it just felt like any other day on the calendar.

But the cupcakes were good. You had smiled at all the emails you had gotten and responded to them with promises to meet up for a mini college reunion one of these days. Davenport had even asked Gladys to get you a nice bouquet on his behalf (though he forgot to take you off the email for that). You supposed that was how life would operate from now on; remembering the bad but still cherishing the good, the pain coexisting within the silver lining you tried so hard to forge.

That night, you pushed to the back of your closet and sat crossed legged in front of those two mason jars. You and Mal had decided to keep the jars because it felt more like them instead of cold, metal urns.

“I miss you both,” you whispered, and somewhere deep inside, you believed that they could hear you.

**One Year after the Event**

“This day is one that will be seared into the minds and hearts of not just our fellow New Yorkers, but for everyone the world over, for generations to come,” the mayor said at the podium that bared the seal of New York City. “The very fabric of our lives, our existence was torn wide open by forces we could never even fathom. And yet, we persist. We continue on because that is the New York way, the human way. We pick up the pieces, dust ourselves off, and prove to those who wish to harm us that they don’t hold the power. We do.”

There was a spattering of applause that swept through the sea of guests gathered at the Jaqueline Kennedy Onassis Reservoir in Central Park. The sun was just beginning to make its descent, and the lanterns that people were holding started to resemble fallen stars. You looked over at Mallory next to you, holding one of those lanterns, the light reflecting off of the wet trails along her cheeks. You squeezed her shoulder and she smiled at you, wordlessly letting you know she was okay.

“Still, we remember those we lost that fateful day,” the mayor continued, looking out at the crowd solemnly. “Fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers and more. Their absence was felt deeply; every anniversary, every birthday, all the firsts they weren’t here for. The empty chairs at the dinner table. Tonight, we honor them, and we cement their legacy in our history. Though they are gone, they are loved, and it is with that love that we can rise up and move forward, to make sure their lives were not in vain. Please join me now, as we release these symbolic lanterns and remember those who shaped us into the people we are today, and continue to do so in their memory.”

Someone handed the mayor his own lantern from the side of the makeshift stage. After pausing for what looked like a silent prayer, he let it go and it drifted upwards, slowly and gracefully into the night air. Everyone else followed suit, hundreds of lanterns lifting up in a swell of light, illuminating the city with mourning and something like hope.

“For mom, and uncle Greg,” Mallory said, and she let go of the lantern in her hand. The two of you followed the lantern with your eyes, watched as it mingled and glided along with the others. You lost it after a while, but you knew you could never lose _them_. They’d always be part of your heart, part of Mal’s heart, and the best you could do was try not to let the grief destroy you.

“Where to, kiddo?” you asked Mal as you made it back onto the street, heading towards the subway. “Do you wanna eat at that shawarma place Greg took us to once?” you asked, and your own stomach rumbled in agreement.

“I dunno, I kind of just want to order pizza and watch _Grey’s_ on the couch,” Mal said reflectively. You nodded, understanding her desire to stay in. You were in need of comfort food and sweatpants.

On the ride back to Brooklyn, you marveled at the fact that a whole year had gone by since the worst day of your life. You thought back to how terrifying and unsure those first few weeks were, how broken you and Mal had been, but somehow, you made it and you did it together. Your family was much smaller now, but you still had one. There wasn’t a day that went by that you didn’t miss Farrah and Greg, but you found solace in your survival, your resilience. You even let yourself hold out a little hope for the future. Just a little.

The large moving truck in front of your building was hard to miss. You had made it in time to see a few burly men unload the last of the furniture out of the truck and through the glass doors. You knew where they were taking it, even before you and Mal stepped off the elevator to your floor and saw the door to your sister’s apartment wide open. Well, it wasn’t hers anymore, you guessed. The movers filed in and out, but there was no sign of the tenant who had hired them. They locked up when they were done, and by the time the pizza came, everything was quiet again. 

After an entire year, you were going to have a new neighbor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve is introduced in the next chapter. Kinda...


End file.
